I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a
residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
Little did I suspect ... I was on Brice Street - a very nice
neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic.

As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry
missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop
immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have
been trying to run across the road when it encountered the
car.

I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to
brake or avoid it. Yes, it was that close. I hate to run
over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a
squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to
brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear.
Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves! Inches
before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was
standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Suzuki
Volusia motorcycle with steadfast resolve in his little
beady eyes.

His mouth opened, and at the last possible
second, he screamed and leapt. I am pretty sure the scream
was squirrel for, or maybe, Die you gravy-sucking, heathen
scum! The leap was nothing short of spectacular ... as he
shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me
squarely in the chest.

Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would
have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the
attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was
a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light
t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a
cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some
damage!

Picture a large man on a huge green and chrome cruiser,
dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering
at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the
fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing...

I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a
few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my
strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the
bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from
the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have
ended right there.

It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into
one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his
business, and I could have headed home. No one would have
been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was
not even an ordinary ticked-off squirrel. This was the all
time, EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH !
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little
hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and
with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed
squarely on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and
extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my
left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not
improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I
could not reach him. I was startled to say the least.

The combination of the force of the throw, only having one
hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking
back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand
and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a
Volusia can only have one result. Torque.
This is what the Volusia is made for, and she is very, very
good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the
pavement.

The squirrel screamed in anger. The Volusia
screamed in ecstasy. And of coarse I screamed in ... well
... I just plain screamed.

Now, picture a large man on a huge green and chrome cruiser,
dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn-t-shirt, wearing
only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and
rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one
wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back.

The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other
hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the
bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own
devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s
tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out
how to release the throttle.... my brain was just simply
overloaded.

I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little
effect against the massive power of the big cruiser. About
this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying
sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he
is an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he
came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with
me. As the faceplate closed partway, he began hissing in my
face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had
little effect on the squirrel, however.

The RPMs on The Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering
with shifting at the moment) so her front end started to
drop. Now picture a large man on a huge green and chrome
cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly-torn t-shirt,
wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph,
still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail
sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet.

By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally, I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail
again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the
left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort-of.
Spectacularly sort-of ... so to speak.

Now let's Picture a this scene from a
different view point.

You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a
quiet residential street and parked with your windows down
to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge green and chrome cruiser,
dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and
wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on
one wheel, and screaming bloody murder, roars by, and with
all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly
into your police car.

I heard screams. They weren’t mine... I managed to get the
big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to
the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a
stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy
cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get
my glove back). I really would have. Really. Except for two
things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the
slightest bit concerned about me at that moment. When I
looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were
flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his
back, doing a crab walk into somebody’s front yard, quickly
moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver
seat was standing in the street and was aiming a riot
shotgun at his own police car.

So the cops were not interested in me. The police often
insist to let the professionals handle it anyway. That was
one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and
flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But
I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window,
shaking his little fist at me, ... That was one dangerous
squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded
patrol car .. but it was all his. At this point I was just
happy that the little evil mutant attack squirrel of death
had yet learned to drive.

Seeing that the situation was some what under control,
mostly by the squirrel, I took a deep breath, turned on my
turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street,
and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to
just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And of coarse, some
bandages.

But the story doesn't end here for when I
arrived home there was another critter waiting my arrival
and chased me all the way down our long drive way to the
garage. I believe they called her, Panda Bear. But you will
have to see this exciting conclusion for yourself. Yes, we
got the whole incident on film...